Wasted
by xxBrigittexx
Summary: Slight future fic, set during their freshman year of college. Veronica isn't coping so well.


Hey everybody! This is my first fic ever soI hope its ok! Concrit is always welcome by the way! So...enjoy (Hopefully!)

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He opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it, and promptly closes it again. They've been her before. She knows he suspects ; fears that he knows all; and it scares her to think that someday they will have to have that conversation. That awkward, anguished conversation that will bring an end to her torrid activities. But Logan is a big advocate of denial and she knows that day is not today. He pops some chicken into his mouth and pretends like its part of her imagination. She thinks perhaps it is. That she's paranoid and he's oblivious. If only.

He watches each forkful of salad as it enters her mouth. Watches carefully, as if he thinks she just might spit it back out when he's not watching. She listens to her roommate, to her friends, as they complain that they're boyfriends never pay enough attention. She thinks there was a time when she could have written a book about such annoyances. Except now she wants just that, and Logans no longer playing ball. Self involved Logan got killed off about three seasons ago, to be replaced by Logan 2.0 – who listens to her woes, and whines about his own annoyances with the perfect balance.

She sees the worry in his eyes as his hands rest a little too long on the sharp edges of her ribcage. She sees the concern as his eyes rest a little too long on the jagged points of her hips. She senses the words on the edge of his tongue, desperate for freedom but trapped by the illusion of calm they've created. She wishes she could appreciate his new found maturity. Wishes his interest in her actions didn't grate on her nerves. Wishes she didn't live in fear of being caught.

It kills her that finally, after all the tragedy and loss and drama he's lived through, that she is about to once again destroy the easy harmony he's found. Part of her wishes she could just go back to being who she used to be, before she began this crusade. But part of her does not. For as much as abhors becoming the thorn in this side, the blemish in the carefree world he fought so hard for, the villain of the piece, somewhere inside she is still Veronica Mars. And the stubborn that survives, outlives the dying flesh and hollow eyes.

Most of the time she longs for Lilly – not to avoid the tragedy and horror that surely led her to this place, but because she knows Lilly wouldn't stand for something so cliché. Sometimes, on bad days when reason overcomes her resolve, she hears her voice in her head, - a little dramatic sermon stuck on repeat

_Come on V, could you be more mid 90s? I mean 21st century angst is all about the substance abuse!_

She misses the eye roll that would follow such wisdom – the "duh" present in all but words. She misses the high pitched giggle and the brilliant glint of mischief behind the eyes. She misses the adventure that defined their time together. With Lily, the road to Oz was always paved with drama.

She hates that her memories of her are in black and white – tragedy draining the vibrant hue from her hindsight, eating away at the pure life that coloured those times. She knows that Lilly would never forgive her – not least because red totally brought out her scorching sex appeal. Can you sense the direct quotes?

But she knows that Lily can't be blamed for this particular angst. She survived just fine in the aftermath of that tragedy and lived to tell the tale. This time, she's not so sure she will. This time, she's not so sure she even wants to.

She's not even convinced that its fair to call this situation a tragedy - at least not in the typical sense of the word. Civilians killed at war is a tragedy. Children dying in Africa is a tragedy. A family killed in a car accident is a tragedy. She's pretty sure she's just pathetic.

In high school, her English teacher told them, that in order for someone's downfall to be tragic, they must know the consequences of their actions. They must sense the wrong in their deeds. They must feel the crime in the depth of their hearts. Macbeth did. She thinks she does too. She's sure she'll remind herself to care later.

She seems to drift in and out of consciousness on the matter. Some days she's utterly blindsided by her mission and refuses to see anything but her twisted cause. The goal escapes her – She thinks it could simply be to fade out of existence entirely but such thoughts dampen her determination so she chooses not to focus on them.

Other days she's aware of the oddity of her actions. The danger. The menace. The mistakes. She chooses to do it anyway.

In the beginning it was only suppose to be a little objective. She'd set off for Hearst, alone for the first time in two years, aware of all she was leaving behind and all that lay before her.

It was entirely selfish of her, but she almost wished that Logan was staying in Neptune. Mourning her departure. Pining for her return. Making up for past mistakes with some sincere and shameless yearning. But alas, Logan was to spend his freshman year on the other side of the country, in Harvard's prestigious pre-Law programme. To say that the Neptune High population was a touch surprised at the success story was an understatement - To see the phoenix, rising from the ashes of such a harrowing adolescence was truly a shocking thing. But Veronica saw no revelation in the news. With the bitter taste of his Father's acquittal burning at his insides, there was no other acceptable vocation. And when Logan wanted something, no heaven, hell or hindrance would stand in his way. She should know- she was case in point.

Wallace was headed for Chicago, Mac was off to M.I.T, and her Father was half way across the country most of the time, playing some skewed version of cops and robbers with the evil of the world. Veronica was heading into the world, a lone figure, with the weight of Neptune's expectation on her shoulders. Independence beckoned. So too did devastation.

When she returned at Thanksgiving, a typical victim of the Freshman 15, Logan had admired her new found curves, through the eyes of a man in love. She looked in the mirror and watched to retch. On bad days, she did.

It was only supposed to be a little deprivation - Just a little bit, to shed off the pounds that anxiety, and longing, and nostalgia awards. But she was Veronica Mars, and she never attempted anything half heartedly. With no-one to watch over her, to truly watch for the signs that a parent, that a best friend, that a lover would not miss, it was all too easy. 15 pounds became 20, and 20 became 25. Eventually she started counting ribs instead.

A part of her wishes that she could feel the hunger, so that it might knaw away at her until she gave in to its rumble. Wishes it hadn't disappeared months ago in the midst of calorie counting hysteria and caffeine induced insomnia. Wishes she wanted to stop this. But most days, she doesn't dare.

And so she sits here, opposite the man she loves, calculating the fat content in the salad before her. Knowing that she's hurtling over a cliff at a dangerous pace. Wondering what it'll feel like to hit the ground. Intending to find out.


End file.
